


With My Life

by Ozymanreis



Series: Tumblr Drabbles [39]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Drowning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pool, Suicidal Thoughts, intense angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-09 14:40:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1986750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ozymanreis/pseuds/Ozymanreis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Truly, all Jim wants is a moment of peace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With My Life

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt #91: Drowning
> 
> Because of that really depressing prompt, we get a really depressing ficlet... sorry.

Moriarty emerges gasping, water sopping off his face. _Minute and half_ , he thinks, _Odd, I can usually go to three._ He gazes longingly into the black basin of liquid in front of him — he had locked the door to the bathroom so he wouldn't be interrupted, _Three gallons doesn't seem like that much when you're under it…_

He isn't sure when this game started; he likes to to pretend he had a happy childhood, but can't remember a time when he _didn't_ partake in this dangerous little pastime. He doesn't often actually take water into his lungs, but when does, he feels oh so _alive._

The game is actually a poor substitution for _actually_ risking his life, but it does as a temporary fix. He craves lack of control, and it's hard to give one's self the illusion of such when leaning into a bucket. What he wants is something volatile, unpredictable. Someone to hold him under, that would push him further down his limits. 

_Like Sherlock…_ Drying off his hair with a towel, he decides he's played enough rounds today. 

In addition to all of that, it's the only time Jim gets more than five seconds of _silence_. When his ears aren't filled with water, or his mind isn't immediately concerned with _dying_ , it's a constant thrum of noise. A cacophony between his grey matter he cannot quell. Truly, all Jim wants is a moment of peace. 

But as things progress with Sherlock, he finds himself wanting for more _excitement_ in their games. The problem is that he _trusts_ the detective not to turn him in, _If I were in prison, he'd be so bored… he can't bare to give me up_. Jim needs more risk, _And perhaps he might get a power trip off of it, too…_

Bringing it up is a bit awkward, but Sherlock doesn't bat an eye as he shrugs, "We all have our vices." 

They're at the pool again. Midnight. Jim is kneeling by the edge, Sherlock mirroring his position as he fists the smaller man's hair, gripping it hard enough to cause Jim to wince. In a resolute swoop, he dunks him in, his face disappearing beneath the rippling surface.

The chlorine burns Moriarty's eyes and nostrils, but he waits patiently for his body to start worrying. At sixty-three seconds, he begins to squirm. Sherlock keeps a still hand, remembering the earlier terms, _Not until you tap out._ The struggle is beautiful — the cold, rational part of the brain trying to combat the primal need for survival. 

After ninety-five seconds, Jim taps out. Still, Sherlock waits another five before letting go, his more sadistic streak testing his submissive partner. 

But even after he coughs up about a pint of burning chemicals, Moriarty can't help but smile, "Same time tomorrow?" 


End file.
